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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23897167">it's strange how you make me feel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:54:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,754</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23897167</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt meets a bard that makes his life a little brighter, that is, despite his grumbles and protests to said bard. The witcher recognizes Jaskier from somewhere, yet he cannot remember who he is.</p><p>Meanwhile, Jaskier recalls things that he had no memory of before.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. fleeting memories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-</p><p>--</p><p>---</p><p>The waves could be heard from outside, angrily crashing against the ship’s sides, as if the ship was an intruder to the waters below. I had gotten used to the monotonous rocking of the vessel, each crash of water causes my head to bang against the metal bars behind me. I was sitting across from another cell, shirtless and weaponless. The closest thing to a weapon I had on my person was my cat medallion, and I wasn’t that desperate. Not yet, at least. To say that I felt uncomfortable without the swords on my back was an understatement. </p><p>I wasn’t alone in my cell, a few feet away from me a man was unconscious on the floor. I was sitting across from him, leaning against the bars by the cell door. In the cell beside mine, a man stirred, and woke up. Sitting up, he turns to see me, and looks surprised that there’s another person other than himself with him.</p><p>“You speak Common?” He asks in a gruff voice, gesturing towards me.</p><p>“Yeah. Know where we are?” I ask, turning my head to the side to face him. He scoots closer to the bars and grips them, tilting his head up at me.</p><p>“On the ‘Albatross’. Or the ‘Phakbarthojl’, as their tongue has it. En route to Ofier.” </p><p>“Don’t remember signing on as a sailor.”</p><p>“Haha, oh, you didn’t, mate. They dragged you aboard. Seems you killed their prince. Thought they killed you.” He explains. I stand up, walking over to the bars that separates us and sat down, my back facing him.</p><p>“Right, the toad from the sewers. Must’ve been cursed. Shit, means I’m in trouble.” I hold the bridge of my nose, gathering my thoughts.</p><p>I had accepted a contract, a toad in the Oxenfurt sewers. Killed it, the corpse turned into a man, then- then boots, some yelling, and that’s it. This is all a misunderstanding, must be a way to clear this up, rather not face the gallows again.</p><p>“Shit, if that toad was their prince.. I’m lucky to be alive.”</p><p>“Depends how you look at it.” I turn my head towards him.</p><p>“Happen to know a bit of Ofieri. Heard them sayin’ they’d come here on a mission. Dispatched by their king to find their prince, lift the curse.” He raises his hand up through the bars, emphasizing his words. He continued.</p><p>“Wagered their honor- and that of their families five generations back- that they’d bring him home, safe and sound.”</p><p>“And I killed him. Great.” I rub my eyes with my hands. “So, must think they can save their honor by bringing the prince’s murderer back- to face the king’s justice.” I sigh. This is all just a simple misunderstanding, though, I doubt anyone here would listen to me. But, it’s worth a shot. The waves were restless outside, crashing into the ship harshly. At some points, I’d think we were in the air instead of the sea.</p><p>“Who’s that?” I nodded my head to the shirtless guy on the floor of my cell.</p><p>“Ofieri’s dragged him on board along with you. Found him poking around in the sewers, looking for that prince of theirs, too. Think he’s dead, hasn’t moved at all.” I hummed in response before talking again, watching the supposed dead guy’s body rise and fall. He was breathing. A chain was on his neck, though it was hard to see what the necklace was, his chest was against the floor of the ship.</p><p>“No, he’s fine. And who might you be?” I nod towards him. </p><p>“Phelippe Calagrande at your service. Petty thief, professional fence, and your guide about Oxenfurt when I’ve a bit of time. What about you?” He said, leaning against the bars, his hands hanging from them.</p><p>“Julian. A witcher.  And why’re you here, Phelippe? You kill a prince, too?”</p><p>The man on the floor began stirring. He was waking up. He held his head, and sat up, looking around before his yellow eyes met mine, they were practically glowing in the dark. My eyes trail down to his medallion- a wolf. I noticed him eyeing the scar running across my lips, and felt weirdly insecure for a moment. I’ve never been one to shy away from my scars, not to mention he’s not exactly a clean slate himself. His gaze travels down to my medallion, and his visibly stiffens. </p><p>I frown bitterly at this, and avoid the other witcher's uneasy gaze on me. Us Cat's don't exactly have the best of reputations, most of us turned assassins for hire, but he really didn't need to pile on the guilt with the heavy hesitance towards me. It was unnerving, to put it mildly. Another wave crashes into the ship, my head thuds against the bars. I'm damn lucky I don't have motion sickness.</p><p>“Well, to their thinkin’, I had a hand in this one’s death. See, I was their guide. Led them down into the sewers, but not until after you’d cut their prince’s gut open.” The ship swayed heavily to the side, a few buckets and lighter crates slid across the floorboards, banging into the metal bars. Geralt watched me with a strange expression, unreadable to me.</p><p>“Oh, dreadfully sorry about that, Phelippe.” I said sincerely. A few drops of water fell onto my bare shoulder, I cast an uneasy look above. This all spells trouble.</p><p>“Not your fault, mate. When all’s said and done, could’ve sat on me arse in the Alchemy playin’ gwent. Didn’t have to brag about knowin’ Oxenfurt better than me own breeches. And who are you?” He asks, looking at the white-haired witcher.</p><p>"Geralt." His says, his voice rough. I study him closer. He's rather attractive for a witcher- straight nose, strong jaw, and nice lips. If circumstances were different I'd buy him a drink; though, I doubt he'd accept. Doubt he'd even accept being a Cat's friend. Especially when considering the wariness with his response. He doesn't trust me, but, he doesn't have much of a choice now. Hell, I would believe if he thought I killed the prince on purpose for a few crowns. A part of me hopes he doesn't think that low of me.</p><p>“Why’re you here?” I ask Geralt, meeting his eyes.</p><p>“Contract on the toad. Guess it was the prince, though. Suppose you didn't know anything about the curse?” I felt my body go rigid, the atmosphere suddenly tense. I was right. He does think that I killed the prince on purpose. Geralt narrows his eyes at me.</p><p>“No.” I say sternly, evening my gaze with his. After searching my eyes for a few moments, Geralt turns his gaze elsewhere, and rests his arms on his raised knees.</p><p>“We been at sea long?” Geralt asked me, eyeing the heavy rain falling onto the stairs that led up to the deck.</p><p>“No. Better for me, though. If they’re hauling me off to hang me, I’m not in a hurry to arrive.” I ran a hand through my dark hair.</p><p>“Me, I’m glad to be sailin’ to Ofier. I hear they got wild horses there, white with black stripes. Always wanted to see one o’ them.” Phelippe said.</p><p>“Sure they’re not black horses with white stripes?” Geralt inquires. Phelippe shook his head.</p><p>“Nay, black horses with thite stripes they’ve got in Zanguebar. That I’m sure of.” He said confidently, gesturing at Geralt. </p><p>The ship rocked silently, the only sound was coming from the outside. The waves seemed even more ferocious than before. A storm- could be a good sign for us. I stand up, cracking my neck before turning to Phelippe.</p><p>“Have you tried to break out yet?” I ask.</p><p>“Beh! Used every ounce of charm I got, and nothin’ doin’. Might be my Ofieri’s rusty.” He admits, throwing his hands dismissively at me.</p><p>“My Ofieri is non-existent.” Geralt deadpanned.</p><p>“I know some.” I say. “Learned from a lovely Ofieri girl long ago.”</p><p>“Elkhahl!” Two guards approached the cell, they were drenched in rain. Water drips off their ankle-length armor and their hand rests on the hilt of their swords. The storm must be worse than I’d originally thought. Thunder cracked menacingly outside, as if confirming my thoughts.</p><p>“What’s he saying?” Geralt asks, standing up and walking behind me.</p><p>“Quiet.” Geralt shut up. I smile. “No, he said ‘quiet’, silly.” I walk up to the bars, gripping them with my hands.</p><p>“Ghalaveth kharh u albahta a'ghell. Ghyle'am vallarh, quar verrethe ner.” The guard said, gesturing towards me. </p><p>I translate for the others. "You killed our prince and you'll pay for that. Were it up to me, you'd be dead already." The other guard stepped in.</p><p>“Revhaghr ner'am ea kharher, Annar. Dhorgatte ye'allami.”</p><p>"Vengeance is not ours to reap, Annar. It's the king's. We swore on our honor." I translate, eyeing the guards carefully.</p><p>“Vhajlth alle'khe uhl eghullath.” I say, speaking fluently in Ofieri. I need to clear up the misunderstanding one way or another.</p><p>“Elkhahl, sokhan. Inhkal avr ikhell urgherevng aul vihter.” The man, Annar, as the other guard had called him, spat at me. And so, they walked away. They held up their arms to block some of the heavy rainfall as they stepped up the stairs and made their way onto the deck.</p><p>“What'd he say before he left?” The other witcher asked, watching the guards’ boots disappear from sight. I hang my bare arms on the bars, letting my forearms hang outside of the cell.</p><p>“I’ll hang in two weeks. Tried to get them to take me to their captain, but they just called me a dog and left. I think that’s progress.”</p><p>“I guess, that’s more than I was able to get from ‘em.” Phelippe says. Groaning, I push off the metal bars. I pinch the bridge of my nose, pacing the cell with a hand at my hip. Geralt sits on the bench in the cell. He watched me pace for a few moments before sighing, and drags me down to the bench by my arm. I look at him questioningly.</p><p>“Not worth worrying about it right now.” He says, looking forward. I let out a breath.</p><p>“I suppose, but, believe it or not, I’m not too keen on dying just yet. And two weeks is hardly enough time.” I whine. Geralt huffs out a laugh at that.</p><p>“For?” I smile at him, but it doesn’t meet my eyes. My canines are probably on full display from my disfigured lip. Shouting could be heard from the deck.</p><p>“Pff. I don’t know. I’d wish to become a bard.” Geralt raises an eyebrow at that, giving me a soft smile. Oh? Has he finally realized that I haven't lost my marbles yet like most Cats? Maybe I was wrong about him, maybe we could be friends at some point. Well, in the two weeks before my impending death.</p><p>"I think you should smile more." I admit, but Geralt didn't get the chance to reply.</p><p>“Djinniah!” A man yelled in Ofieri from the deck. I stand up, the wavering vessel making it hard to keep my balance. Djinn? Do they have a djinn on this ship? Geralt cast a worried look above. The floorboards above us creak, and water drips down from the rotting wood.</p><p>Water exploded into the ship, caving in some of the deck and swallowing the ship whole. I grip onto the bars for life, as did Geralt. Phelippe rams into the metal bars, and goes limp in the cold water. Another surge of water rams into me, and my grip fails. I was about to slam into the wall when I felt someone grab onto my arm with a firm grasp, it was Geralt. He held on for a few moments before his grasp on the metal bar and me slipped, throwing us both into the middle of the ocean during a storm.</p><p>The stinging cold water breaks apart for a split second, allowing me to barely fill my lungs with salty air before the water forcefully threads together once more- knocking the air from my throbbing lungs once more. Flailing my arms, I try to grasp anything, anything that would bring me above the bone-chilling waves the engulfs me- dragging me further and further into the dark abyss. A sliver of hope passes through my mind- maybe, just maybe, I’ll be alright. Despite my hopes, in the back of my mind, I knew they were just the desperate delusions of a dead man.</p><p>---</p><p>Rough sand scratches at my back, the sun blinds me as I open my eyes. My hands were bound, I’m being dragged by someone. I look to my side, there are a few guards walking alongside the Ofieri man who drags me across the landscape by my feet. </p><p>Shit, what happened… I was on a ship with two other prisoners and Ofieri, and we crashed. My head rings, probably hit it and passed out. Where are the other prisoners? What were their names… Phelippe and... what was his name? Whatever his name was, he was a Cat witcher, and probably dead along with Phelippe- I don’t see them here.</p><p>My tongue feels salty, and my throat’s dry. How long have I been out?</p><p>The men around me were speaking to each other in their native tongue. I eye a large rock close to me and grab it with my bound hands when it was in reach. In one fluid motion, I hurl the rock at the man’s head so he falls forwards, releasing me, and I push my back off the ground while kicking my legs up, my feet landing on the sand ground. The other guards yell and draw their weapons, closing in on me.</p><p>"Sokhan!" One spat at me. Chances are, it probably meant something degrading to me.</p><p>Leaning over, I grab the knocked out guard’s sword and cut the rope binding my hands. I flick the steel blade around my wrist before turning to the guards.</p><p>“Let’s dance.” I growl.</p><p>---Years Later---</p><p>Something’s wrong, or it’s perfectly alright. The attention, the stares, are all turned away from me. Either something more unnerving is in the tavern, drawing in the scrutinizing stares, or something more interesting, drawing in an adoring audience. Hopefully the latter. </p><p>I turn my eyes up from my tankard and groan inside my head. It isn’t the latter. It’s a fucking bard, in all his silk glory. An eyesore, worse than the first option.</p><p>“You think you’re safe, without a care. But here in Posada, you’d be wise to beware…” He began singing, strumming his lute with his fingers.</p><p>There's something about him that reminds me of someone. An old memory perhaps, so far and distant that I've long forgotten. I shrug the thought away. Must've been in some town I was passing through, heard him from the tavern, maybe. But it's not just the voice that seems familiar, the face, the attitude, the way he carries himself- it all seems too familiar.</p><p>Strange. I look at the ale at the bottom of my tankard, swirling it around once. Must be something weird in my drink, I've no recollection of him. Yet, even after the empty reassurances, I still find myself watching the bard with curious eyes.</p><p>“The pike with the spike that lurks in your drawers.” The bard walks forwards while playing his lute, taking a step at every note. Strumming the strings fervently and getting the customers to clap along with the song, he watches the people with a grin on his face. A scar runs through the side of his lips, destroying them and revealing his canines. Reminds of of Eskel's, though, the bard's healed much better.</p><p>Strange to see a bard with scars. His hands are littered with a few smaller ones along with a few welts on his fingertips that were probably from playing the lute. His eyes were cornflower blue, and his hair was a dark brown, yet you could make out a few silver hairs here and there.</p><p>He threw his foot onto a stool. I raised an eyebrow slightly at his dramatic antics.</p><p>“Or the flying drake, that will fill you with horror!” He holds out the last word, closing his eyes and throwing his head back a little.</p><p>“Need Old Nan the Hag to stir up a potion, so that your lady might get an abortion!” He sings loudly. Groans filled the room as people turned away from the bard and shouted curses at him, some even threw food at him.</p><p>“Abort yourself!” One man yelled, throwing bread at the bard. Scoffing, I lift my tankard up, thoroughly enjoying the turn of events.</p><p>“Oh, oi! Stop! Fuck off!” The bard yelled while flinching away from the bread, raising his hands up to block the food.</p><p>“Shut up!” Another yelled at him. The bard set his lute down, placing it inside its case.</p><p>“I’m so glad that I could bring you all together like this.” He said sarcastically, gesturing towards the people with his hands.</p><p>“Sit down and shut up!” A woman, this time.</p><p>“Unbelievable.” He scoffed. The bard crouched down on the floor, gathering up some bread and coins and stuffing them into his pants. </p><p>As I watch him, I piece the puzzle together, slowly, one piece at a time. My eyes widen. I almost stand up against my will, and bang my knee on the table instead, earning some weird looks from a few patrons and the innkeeper.</p><p>I saw him, back on the Ofieri ship. Who was he? I ran through the faces and names on the ship. The faces were blurred from the years, yet I was able to cross off the Ofieri guards I saw. He's northern, was he one of the prisoners? Has to be. Which one, though? Their names, I can barely remember. One was a witcher, and I can't remember much about the other. I take a deep breath, and watch the bard. He looks up at me, and I quickly snap my eyes away from him.</p><p>I stood up to leave, but before I could make it past the door, a man approached me.</p><p>“A job I’ve got for ya. I beg you. There’s a monster in our woods, terrorizin’ the locals and some unlucky travelers. In advance, I’ll pay you. A hundred ducat.”</p><p>I turn around and look away from him. A hundred, huh?</p><p>“One-fifty.” I barter, meeting his eyes with a cold glare.</p><p>“I’ve no doubt you’ll come through. You take no prisoners, so I hear.” He shuffles through pockets before handing me a money pouch. I took it. </p><p>“Any recent witnesses?”</p><p>“That bard from inside. Monster attacked ‘im on and some others the road.”</p><p>“Where is he?” I asked, casting a look around the tavern. The bard was no where in sight.</p><p>“Went out back with a man.” I grunt.</p><p>With that, I left. Cursing as my boots sank into some mud outside, I adjust my headband. Still better than Velen, place is a giant swamp with drowners and water hags at every turn. I hate it.</p><p>Rounding the corner of the tavern, I made my way to the back of the establishment. I stop abruptly. </p><p>Someone was talking. I lean against the wall silently, and eavesdrop.</p><p>“Listen… It's Beatrice,” Could be interesting…</p><p>“I've fallen in love with her, alas. Pen me a sonnet, would you?” I take it back.</p><p>“A sonnet? Tough genre. It'll cost you a few crowns.” It’s the bard’s voice. Found him.</p><p>“So you'll not write it for free? But, it would be an invaluable experience…” The man said, trying to convince the bard. The bard let out an unimpressed scoff at this.</p><p>“For that, I can offer you this couplet: "All cheapskates, skinflints, penny minders: go plough yourselves, you fucking misers!"” I bite back a laugh at that.</p><p>“The cheek! It's true what they say - every bard is a lazy good-for-nothing!” He stomped away, practically running into me when he turned the corner.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, and good riddance!” The bard yelled after the man. He’s interesting. I took the chance, and walked up to the bard. My medallion hums as I get closer to him. There's magic at play here. Strong magic. His face was contorted in anger, his brows drawn together tightly.</p><p>When he saw me he groaned and looked away, holding the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed shut.</p><p>“Interesting method. But what's more interesting is how my medallion hums when I'm near you.” I say, eyeing him. My gaze lingers on the scar disfiguring his lips.</p><p>“What, do you too have a lovely beau that needs a fucking sonnet in order for her to spread her legs? Fuck off, you and your weird medallion.” He says, gesturing to me.</p><p>“No. Just curious.” The bard turns to face me.</p><p>“Cut the shit, what do you want?” He nods towards me and leans his shoulder against the tavern.</p><p>“Need to know about the monster that you saw by the woods.” I lift my hand towards him, urging him to talk. He sighed, visibly calming down. Pushing himself off the wall, he begins to talk.</p><p>“My apologies. I’m rather irritable today. Julian, but my friends at the Academy call me Jaskier. Whichever you prefer.” He introduces himself and holds out his hand. I crossed my arms.</p><p>“Ah, not in the mood for formalities, I see." He said, tucking his hands under his arms.</p><p>"I was traveling with a caravan- couldn’t recall one of their names even if my life depended on it. The beast jumped out of the trees and attacked. I ran, I don’t know what happened to the others. It was a big beast, the size of the bloody Hierarch. Hell, bigger than that. Maybe cross the Hierarch with a bear- no, two bears, a goat, and- and you get the pretty picture. Well, not exactly pretty, but-”</p><p>“Any distinguishing features?”</p><p>“Yeah. Horns, a nuzzle, goat eyes, kinda looked like- like…” His eyes trailed downwards, dismay and confusion washing over his face.</p><p>“Like...?” I press.</p><p>“No, I just- A word came to mind. Means nothing to me, but it seems to fit.”</p><p>“Don’t have time for riddles, bard.” I say sternly.</p><p>“A fiend.” He finished. His eyes are on me, but his gaze seems to go through me. How unnerving. </p><p>“Must’ve heard it during my time in Oxenfurt.” The bard said, suddenly chipper. His entire demeanor changed, almost throwing me off. Strange. I raise a brow at him before turning around. It'd be best if I left him to his life, the ship wasn't the most pleasant of memories.</p><p>“Farewell, bard.”</p><p>“Wait!” He calls after me, running up to my side.</p><p>“Ah. Need a hand? I’ve got two. One for each of the, uh, fiend’s horns.” The bard raises his hands up, presenting them to me.</p><p>“Go away.”</p><p>“I won’t be but a silent back-up. Look, I’ve hit a stump of sorts. You saw it yourself back there. I mean, a sonnet! For free at that! I’m losing my touch, and maybe real adventures would make better stories. And you, sir, smell chock-full of them.” </p><p>I untie Roach from a fence post a few yards away from the tavern. Looking up, I raise my arm to block the sun from my eyes.</p><p>The sun is still high, a fiend shouldn’t last too long. Be able to travel a bit further after collecting the agreed sum.</p><p>Wrapping Roach’s reigns around my hand, I move on to the road. The bard is still rambling on about something, following close behind.</p><p>“Amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is that onion? It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak.”</p><p>“It’s onion.”</p><p>“Right, yeah. Yeah. Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the- the White Wolf!” He threw his hands out dramatically, trying to emphasize his point. </p><p>I pause. Julian bumps into my shoulder and looks up at me with a questioning look.</p><p>“Why that name?” I ask, turning my head to the side to look at him.</p><p>“Why? Do you want people to call you the ‘Butcher of Blaviken’?” He asks.</p><p>“Butcher is right.” I begin walking again, leading Roach.</p><p>“Far from it. More so, the name is dull and lacking fervor."</p><p>---</p><p>Crouching down, I examine a corpse in the forest. I found remains of the caravan that ran off the road thanks to the fiend.</p><p>I lifted the cold body’s arm up, ignoring Julian’s gagging at the sight, and checked the wounds. My gaze lands on the body’s legs. Marks similar to those on the arms were littered across the lower limbs.</p><p>“Bite marks on arms and legs, wounds were post-mortem. Necrophages.” I curse under my breath. Cause of death: internal hemorrhaging from a strong blow. That’d be from the friend. </p><p>Wasn’t trying to kill them, just trying to get past them. The unlucky caravan just happened to be in its way.</p><p>After a quick glance at the other corpses, I surmised that their injuries were all similar.</p><p>“And, do you, perchance, know where the monsters with the munchies ran off to? That’d be just lovely to know, especially if they are not within a five mile radius of us.” Jaskier inquired uneasily from behind me.</p><p>“Nearby. Don’t stray far if you want to live.” I stand up and Julian stays close behind me. The fiend’s tracks were clear, but a few hours old. </p><p>Traces of blood are visible along the prints. It’s injured, but not by the caravan, by something else. It’s scent- an amalgam of the fiend along with another’s scent.</p><p>“It must be holed up in some cave relatively close to here. It wasn’t alone, the scent was mixed with another’s.”</p><p>“What do you mean by that? Geralt, what does that mean?” He asks, giving me a worried glance.</p><p>“Must’ve been forced out of its home for it to be this close to the road. A territorial dispute, maybe. Chances are, it’s dead now.”</p><p>“Oh, great! Well, let’s go back and collect the reward and carry on our merry way!” He said, relieved. Before he could turn around, I spoke up.</p><p>“Have to take care of the thing that killed the fiend.” I started to follow the tracks further into the woods. Julian sighed, and reluctantly followed me.</p><p>“Oh, that’s just wonderful. Yes, let’s go after the even bigger scarier thing that killed the original big scary thing. Great idea- Wait, I never caught your name.” Julian was walking briskly behind me, his lute case bouncing against his back.</p><p>“Geralt.”</p><p>“Well then Geralt, we shall die together. On my gravestone it’ll say: killed by impending dangers that the guy to the immediate left of me just had to mess with.” I bite back a smile.</p><p>I didn’t answer him and continued following the fiend’s tracks.</p><p>“Don’t worry, we, my friend, shall be remembered by many great ballads to come.”</p><p>“Not your friend.”</p><p>“Oh, you just need some time to accept our growing friendship. I understand.”</p><p>----</p><p>“I love singing. Songs, poetry, ballads, everything. Ever since I was young I had a certain ‘bond’ over lead and paper. It would lure me in with every word, every scripture, every sentence, like a beacon calling me home. At night I sat by a single oil lamp emitting the only light in my room, writing new material until the nub of my pencil was so dull that my fingers would brush against the parchment.”</p><p>After finding the cave, I found the fiend’s corpse inside. A chort had killed it, my theory proved true. I set up a lure. Now all I needed to do is wait for the chort to come out. I told the bard to get back when the fighting began, but I’m not sure if he heard me.</p><p>It should come in a few hours. I poke at the fire with a stick, causing embers to fly up in the air and the logs to crack, weighing down against the fire’s flames. We were in the forest, waiting a short walk away fro the cave.</p><p>The bard sat across from me, talking avidly about his life and thoughts. I look up at him without moving my head. My arms felt light as they rested on my knees.</p><p>“Explain something to me: how do you manage to still sound like you’re speaking in poetry when you’re just rambling meaninglessness to me?”</p><p>“You jest. A jesting witcher, I find that quite endearing. Sometimes I’ll miss the simplest of errors, perhaps a note was too long or the song doesn’t rhyme all that well- things like that. It infuriates me that I simply cannot notice the little things.” </p><p>“Hm.” I turn my gaze back to the glowering flames.</p><p>“That’s a problem for me in the musical world and the real world. I say it like that because I see the two as very different, separate if that makes any sense whatsoever to anyone besides myself.” </p><p>“Just you.”</p><p>“In the musical world, I feel, well I guess the only way to describe it is that I feel at home, I feel like me, I feel like I actually belong for a change. I almost go into a fugue state and just… sing. And when I snap out of it,  no surge of brilliance comes to greet me.” </p><p>Julian laughs a little, his disfigured lip revealing a small part of his gums.</p><p>“Though, I would never call my work ‘brilliant’.”</p><p>“The song back at the tavern didn’t exactly get bad reviews.”</p><p>“Geralt, they threw bread at me.” Julian deadpanned.</p><p>“Editable and fresh bread, I’ll add.”</p><p>The bard giggled at him. “I swear, you look at things like no other, do you? It’s quite refreshing after dealing with the fucking nobles and suck-ups from the Academy for years.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“I’ll even consider writing you a sonnet, for free at that. You should feel honored.”</p><p>“Consider me honored.” I smile softly at him. Julian watches me, amazed.</p><p>“My, I never knew you had it in you.” I knit my eyebrows together.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing. Just… I think you should smile more.” Those words- they seemed familiar, like déjà vu. Someone told me that before, though that memory is muffed. The face- mostly a blur, but he sounded the same. Someone in the ship, huh? I give him a weird look before standing up.</p><p>"Gonna wait for it in the cave."</p><p>"Please do come back, rather have a living, walking, muse." I snort.</p><p>"Muse?" I ask, eyeing him.</p><p>"Well, yes. Unless you prefer something different? Impending danger seeker, perhaps? You sure like poking at the bee's nest, like no one else I've met, at that. And I've certainly met my fair share of people."</p><p>"Hm." I leave him by the fire, and began walking towards the cave.</p><p>---</p><p>With a snort, the chort charges at me, faster than I’d expect. Rolling out of the way, I grip my silver sword, Aerondight.</p><p>Sword up, I sidestepped, walking a slow sweep of the cave that the chort mirrored- its eyes glowering furiously in the shadows.</p><p>The chort’s nose is black and wet, nostrils flaring wide as it sucks in breaths.</p><p>With a terrifying bellow, the chort charges. I twist and duck, lashing at the chort with my blade. It knocked the sword aside, opening a bone-deep gash in its arm, and it got me in the gut with its head. </p><p>The air exploded from my lungs, and almost doubled over myself. Licking my lips, I tasted blood. </p><p>“C’mon, bitch.” I snap, flicking my sword around my wrist.</p><p>Spinning my blade, I slash at the beast, earning a horrific screech of pain from the chort. It stumbled back, and lashed it’s head at me.</p><p>I duck, and stab the chort in the chest with Aerondight. The relic stumbles, before falling onto its side.</p><p>Kicking the corpse once, I run a hand through my hair. I sheath my sword. Dead, now for proof. I crouch down, flipping a blade in the air before stabbing it deep into the chort's neck.</p><p>---</p><p>"There you are! I was starting to worry. So, what was it?" Julian stood up when he saw me emerge from the shadows cast by the trees.</p><p>"Chort." I sit down beside the fire after fastening the head onto Roach.</p><p>"Ah, of course. Um, what's that?" The bard asks, pointing towards the head.</p><p>"Proof."</p><p>"Oh. How lovely." He sits down across from me, avoiding the bulging eyes on the head. Julian clears his throat.</p><p>"Now, what rhymes with 'chort'? Hort, cort, port... you should've fought the chort at the port, that'd rhyme much better than 'dark, scary, cave'."</p><p>I decide not to point out that the first two weren't even words. Sighing, I look up at him and point towards my lip.</p><p>"What happened?" Julian stiffens and frowns- deep and bitter enough to make me regret asking.</p><p>"It sounds silly, but I'm really not sure." He admits, still not meeting my eyes. Knew I wasn't going to get a straight answer from him.</p><p>"Don't have to tell me if you don't want to."</p><p>The fire is dying, its last embers flew up into the sky, and the clearing in the forest goes dark. It's dead silent.</p><p>"No, you're wrong. I really don't know how I came to get this." He looks up at me. There was honesty in his words, he's not lying. I raised a dark brow at him. Interesting.</p><p>A bard that doesn't remember getting his face cut up. If he did remember, he would probably have twenty-something ballads about it, fabricating most of the events and portraying himself as a gallant hero. Yet, he sits there silent, looking deep in thought as if digging through his head, trying to piece his memories together. It's weird seeing the bard so quiet, so lost in his thoughts, so aloof.</p><p>Missing memories and strong magic- no doubt the two are connected. He may have gotten the scar from the ship wreck, hit his head hard and lost some memories. That would explain it, but it wouldn't explain the magic. Something's off.</p><p>"Huh. Got a history of amnesia, or something?" Julian smiled sadly at me.</p><p>"Not to my knowledge, no. If only, then I suppose that'd explain a lot." I hum at his response.</p><p>"Go to bed, Jaskier. We'll take the trophy back tomorrow." Julian, or Jaskier, lights up at the name. He grins mischievously at me, looking smug as ever. He shook his finger at me.</p><p>"Not friends my ass, you just called me-" I cut him off.</p><p>"Don't make me regret it." Jaskier grinned at me. Sighing, I lay down and shut my eyes, ignoring the pure joy radiating off Jaskier.</p><p>I could feel his eyes on me, but they quickly left as he doused the fire and laid down.</p><p>"Night." He yawns.</p><p>My thoughts kept me up all night. Thoughts about the bard.</p><p>---</p><p>--</p><p>-</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. spirits and lutes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>jaskier after the ship wreck</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-</p><p>--</p><p>---</p><p>Seagulls cry out from above, swirling around in the sky. I find myself on a shore- sand clinging to my wet body. I lunge forward, coughing up some salt water and looking around frantically. My gaze turns downwards, looking at myself. My only possession: trousers and a cat medallion. Grabbing my throbbing head, I try to piece together my memories. I was on… what was I on? What was I doing? I try to cling to the memories, but they fall from my grasp. I know nothing, save my name and that... I’m a bard? Information spilled into my head, it was nearly overwhelming. Yes, I’m a bard. I’ve studied at Oxenfurt Academy for years. But, why am I here? Two gashes are imprinted in my arm, the medallion hums at the sight of them. I look warily at the wounds, a part of me knew they were important. Very important. Gulping, I stand, staggering on my feet. I rip the necklace from my neck, and pocket it. The odd jewelry seems to have befallen a curse of sorts, perhaps, to make it vibrate like so. </p><p>Brushing the sand off my trousers, I look around in confusion. The beach is calm and seems strangely inviting. Stumbling forwards, I regain my balance and stagger along the shore. The oranges and fuchsias of the horizon swirl together like oil paints on canvas. They reflect sweetly on the lazy waves that sink into the sands with ease. Seagulls fly above the clouds that hang around the setting sun, the barely visible stars shining through. Wet sand squishes up in between my toes with each step along the sandy dunes. It’s just before twilight, the sun is setting. The tide grows, rolling in up to my heels and erasing some of my sandy prints. </p><p>I’m not exactly sure how long I’ve been walking, but I’m far from where I woke up, and it’s dark out now. Everything seems so peaceful, yet, somehow, a part of me can tell that underneath the misleading tranquil landscape, a deep menace lies. Screeches can be heard from afar- a high, monstrous screech. My entire body goes rigid when a body pressed up against a wooden plank comes into view. A siren swoops down low, circling the man. I felt little relief when I saw his chest rising and falling. He would’ve been lucky to have drowned in the sea, a death caused by a monster is nothing short of a few words: merciless, slow, and agonizing. Sirens usually hunt in flocks, making use of their numbers as well as their ability to move effortlessly through water and air. Meaning, this lone siren must’ve gotten separated somehow, and is now desperate for food.</p><p>Ignoring the sudden burst of arcane knowledge, I swallow- hard- and grab a large rock off the ground with shaking hands. With my limited memory, I made an educated guess that as a bard from Oxenfurt I haven’t done much fighting in my life. So, my fighting skills and experience were probably close to non-existent. Nethertheless, I easily lift the rock above my head and hurl it at one of the siren’s wings in a lame attempt to distract it from the defenseless man on the ground. The siren whips its head around at this, screeching out. The monster swoops down, but before it could dig its razor-sharp claws into me, I roll out of the way. I can barely turn around when the siren is already swooping at me once more, with no time to react, I yell out the first thing that comes to mind and lift my arms up defensively.</p><p>“Please, please go away! I really wish you would!” Dead silence hung in the thick air.</p><p>I wait for my impending death, but nothing happens. Peeking out from behind my raised arms, I find no siren ready to kill me. I lower my arms, and back up, looking around for the monster. Has it fled? The siren is nowhere to be seen. My eyes fell on the man on the ground. He looks familiar. Have I seen him before? Maybe he knows what happened to me. Provided he’s still alive. Crouching down, I place two fingers on his neck, checking his pulse. He’s fine.</p><p>The man stirs awake a few minutes later. I was about to explain what had happened with the siren, but he interrupted me.</p><p>“By the gods! You survived, Julian! It’s me, Phelippe.” He exclaims, looking me over as if I had two heads.</p><p>“You look a bit different, lad. Always had those eyes?” I look at him, confused. What about my eyes? Are they different? I swallow down my worries. </p><p>“Um, I have to apologize. I may have hit my head, perhaps. I don’t remember much of anything. Mind explaining?” I gesture towards him. He huffs.</p><p>“Right nonsense, that is. Ship crashed n’ we went down with it. Simple as that. Have to give you the benefit of the doubt, my friend. Your mind isn’t the only muddled one. Can barely remember much. Have to say, though, doubt anybody else survived that crash. Right shame for that friend of ours, but the others can rightly fuck off.” Phelippe says, spitting at the end.</p><p>“Oh, so it was a crash?” Phelippe stands. My eyes follow him.</p><p>“Aye. On another note, I’m off to Novigrad. Always work to be found in that shithole. Nearest town is just over that hill,” Phelippe says, pointing over yonder, “though, I do hope I’ll see you again, witcher. Farewell.” He raises his hand up, waving me goodbye as he walks away.</p><p>“What did you call me?” I ask, bewildered, but he was too far away to hear. He left me with my own thoughts and even more questions than before.</p><p>My eyes trail up to the empty space where the siren had been but minutes ago. </p><p>There’s no way it would just disappear just because I told it to do so. I should be dead. Just what happened? </p><p>I let out a shuddering breath before taking Phelippe’s advice, and make my way to the town. Dragging my feet up a particularly rocky area that takes me off the beach, my eyes catch something. My arm, I had sworn there were two jagged scars there before, but there is only one. I swallow thickly, averting my gaze from the mark- telling myself in my head that nothing strange was happening, that my head was just muddled, just as Phelippe had told me mere moments ago. It didn’t work. The rest of the trek to the town was filled with interminable worry. Yet, a part of me felt a rush of excitement and adrenaline from the mystery. I frown, deeply.</p><p>“Why are you looking so down?” Looking up, I notice an old woman a rock toss away from me. She was drying out some clothes on a line, watching me with her hands on her hips. She gestures at me. </p><p>“You shouldn’t look so sad, young man.” She calls out, turning her attention and hands back to adjusting the clothes on the line that kept getting wrinkled from the wind. Behind her, a town stood. It was made up of a few houses that were made of mostly wood, but a few had stone foundations. Probably made for village elders. This might as well be a good place to earn some coin and get back to my life, putting the supposed shipwreck behind me.</p><p>“Do you know where I might be able to get some clothes?” I ask the old woman.</p><p>“You can borrow some from me. My son died a few months back, you look to be the same size as him, but you definitely have a better physique. Don’t give me that look, people die all the time around these parts. There’s a war going on. My house is just behind me, take a left when you get inside, there’s a chest on the ground with some clothes.” Her kindness stuns me.</p><p>“I-I appreciate it, is there any way I can repay you?” I ask, walking up to her.</p><p>“Stay for dinner, you’re as skinny as a rat.” She smiles, wrinkles deepening in the corners of her eyes. </p><p>I nod appreciatively before going inside the house. Inside the chest the old woman had mentioned, I found a good pair of trousers and a silk shirt. I got dressed and decided to wait for the woman.</p><p>---</p><p>“Why are you helping me? I’ve no coin nor valuable possessions.” My mind wanders back to the medallion. I had put it in the new trousers. The medallion couldn't be worth more than a crown or two. At least, I don’t think it’s worth much. We were sitting at a small table in her house, eating the soup she had prepared beforehand, yet she leaves her's untouched. It was a bit on the cold side, she must’ve made it forever ago. Maybe she forgot about it. She sighs. The fireplace a few feet away from us crackles, sending a few sparks into the air. It was dying, it has been burning for a while.</p><p>“To be honest, you resemble Lucas, my son. Felt as if I’d be forgiven if I helped you.” She explains.</p><p>“Forgiven? What for?” I set my spoon down, diverting my full attention to the old woman.</p><p>“Before he died, we got into a fight. Over something silly, but I was irate and beyond resonating with. I had told him not to go to war, to stay here with me and sing his songs while we wait for the war to blow past us. ‘No, mum.’ He said, ‘Those Nilfgaard ought to pay for taking Temeria.’ I took him for a singer, not a soldier.” </p><p>She smiles fondly and holds her hands together in her lap. She wore a turquoise ring on her finger, which compliments her eyes.</p><p>“He was always so very adamant about the war. Very strong opinions. I always knew it was just going to cause trouble one day.” Her smile fades as she looks down at her lap, her expression somber. </p><p>“One day, he was speaking poorly about Nilfgaard at the tavern. Some boys overheard him, and decided that they didn’t like what he was saying. The innkeeper found him later, dead behind the tavern.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m very sorry for your loss-” She smiles softly at me and holds up her hand, signalling me to stop.</p><p>“No need. You’re a bard, aren’t you? Or perhaps a soldier?” She asks, nodding towards my hands. An old feeling is lost behind the word ‘soldier’, as if it pains her to say it.</p><p>“What makes you think that?” I inquire, looking down at my hands.</p><p>“Your hands- you’ve welts on them. Perhaps from a sword or strings, maybe from something different all together.” I raise a brow at this.</p><p>“You’re very perceptive, I’ll give you that.” I look at my fingers, curiously blooming in me. “Yes, I’m a bard.” It was a simple thing to say, but the words felt false, foreign even, on my tongue.</p><p>She smiles warmly at me before standing up. I watch her as she disappears into a small room. Moments later, she comes back out, a lute in her hands. She holds it out to me before I understand.</p><p>“No, I can’t take it. That must’ve been your son’s. You must keep it.” She shakes her head.</p><p>“I cannot. I’ve no use for an instrument. It only brings back sad memories of him, he never truly realized his gift. I wish he could’ve used this better. I believe you can make better use of it. Besides, a bard is not a bard without an instrument. Take it, I insist. Otherwise, it would sit here and collect dust.”</p><p>“You’ve never even heard me play, I could be tone-deaf for all you know.” She smiles fondly at me before moving the lute closer to me.</p><p>“Then play for me, play me something hopeful, just as my son did for me. Take this request as your payment for the meal and clothes.” Her voice warbles, now eerie, sounding as if it echoed through the house. The room suddenly feels cold.</p><p>I watch her questioningly before my eyes catch something. In the room she had gone in before, part of a limp hand could be seen. Dried blood from mere hours ago was visible along with a slit on the wrist. My gaze travels up to the pale finger: a turquoise ring.</p><p>I smile sadly and nod at the old woman, finally understanding the purpose of this. </p><p>The woman had died a few hours ago, what was in front of me was her benign spirit. She had killed herself, couldn’t cope with the pain of losing her only son. Now, she’s trying to replace the bad memories with good ones before she leaves. Her son never played this lute, it's as good as new, save the dust. Chances are, she bought the instrument for her son, in hope that he would use his talent to create some hope in these dark times, yet he had wanted revenge instead. Revenge on Nilfgaard. </p><p>With careful hands, I take the lute from the spirit’s hands, and place my fingers ever so gently on the strings. The chords flood into my head, and my fingers move on their own. The woman sits on a stool in front of the dying fire, and listens as she stares into the small flames. Her head is turned away from me, yet I can hear her soft sobbing. No tears fall from her face, for spirits cannot cry.</p><p>And so, I played for her. I played for her until my fingertips were raw, and it hurt to pluck the strings.</p><p>---</p><p>I turn around, and watch through the window as the spirit evaporates into the air. The lute felt heavy on my back. It was late now. I was a few yards away from the house, I had buried the body and marked her grave, leaving behind a few flowers on top of it. Horses and the creaking of wheels echo throughout the night, a caravan is passing along the path. They come to a halt.</p><p>“You, bard. Want a ride? We’ll take you as far as Posada if you play for us.” A man says, he was sitting up front, holding the reins of the horses. His face is lit up by a lantern at his side. Voices and some soft laughter could be heard from the inside of the wagon. Merchants, traveling around the world to trade their goods. </p><p>“Yes. But I’m afraid I can’t do much other than sing as of the moment.” My fingers burn slightly at the mention of playing, yet no regrets emerge from my mind.</p><p>“Aye, that’s mighty alright. Hop in, we’ve got quite a bit of traveling in front of us, my friend.”</p><p>---</p><p>“Pff, I didn’t take that long.” I say softly, walking into the dark room. We stopped at an inn after collecting the reward for the chort. After singing downstairs for a few hours, I return to the room to find Geralt asleep. It was weird seeing him asleep, so at ease and vulnerable while being dead to the world. Geralt is an early riser and always went to bed after me, so I’ve never seen him like this before.</p><p>His chest rises and falls as he takes in even breaths. Setting down my lute, I take off my shoes and some clothes; leaving myself in an undershirt and trousers. We had originally wanted two rooms or at least two beds, but we decided that ultimately saving money was of more importance. So much so that we’d swallow our pride and spend an awkward night or two by one another.</p><p>To my annoyance, the witcher’s large frame was taking up most of the bed. I kneel down on the bed and lift his arm up as I lay down next to him. My eyes drift to his face as I subconsciously lay his arm over me. Even in the darkness of the room, his distinct, handsome features were quite clear. For once, his brows weren’t knitted together and his eyes weren’t narrowed.</p><p>I trail my eyes down his face, stopping at his lips. A part of me wonders what they would feel like. I quickly look away, flustered. Get a hold of yourself, Jaskier. Against my will, I find myself watching his face again. I just want to try something, it’d only take a second. I swallow down my nerves, and bring my hand up to his face. My fingertips brush against his pale skin, tracing along his face and sharp jaw. Tremors run through my hand when I cup his jaw gently, careful not to wake him. I press my thumb against his soft lips, running it across them slowly before tugging at his bottom lip. My eyes watch them hungrily.</p><p>I curse at myself in my head. What the hell are you doing, Jaskier? Biting my lip, I remove my hand and roll onto my back. His arm flops over my chest, causing butterflies to erupt in my stomach. I curse silently and tell myself that I can allow myself this much, it should be fine. Bringing my hands up to my hot face, I groan quietly. My heart is banging in my chest, I can hear the irregular thumps quite clearly. </p><p>Fuck.</p><p>---</p><p>"So, where are we off to?" I ask Geralt. We had left the inn early, and were making our way god knows where. He's rather quiet today. The witcher was walking in front of me, with Roach's reigns in his hand.</p><p>"We're going to a nearby village. According to the notice, someone's been cursed." He answers without turning around.</p><p>My ears perk up at that. He said 'we'. At first glance, it was glaringly obvious that Geralt wasn't exactly fond of my company. But, deep down, I bet he doesn't mind my company, hell, maybe he even enjoys it. Though, that may be a bit of a stretch. Either way, it was comforting to know that he wasn't itching to run his sword through me every time I open my mouth. Smiling at him, I gingerly walk up to him.</p><p>"Aw, you said-" Geralt turns his head to the side, sending me a cold glare. Whistling, I decide not to finish my sentence.</p><p>"Someone needs a nap..." I say lowly, averting my gaze and lift my hand up to stroke Roach's mane. She whinnies appreciatively. I knew he heard me, but Geralt chose to ignore my comment. Seems like that's all I'll get out of him today. I pull out my lute and begin to play a soft tune.</p><p>We weren't going to do much today other than get the reward for the chort and find an inn. I can see it in his eyes. He looks tired, not physically, but mentally. Is it because of me? My fingers waver, causing the song to become off-beat. Geralt cast me a worried look, to which I just give him a reassuring smile. He has a big heart, he cares a lot about people close to him even though he doesn't show it. Though, I wouldn't consider myself close to him. I've only know him for a few days, after all. I frown at this. I really don't know him, do I? A part of me dearly wishes that I did.</p><p>"I can hear you thinking from here, Jaskier. What is it?" My head snaps up to him. I realize only then that I had stopped playing long ago. I feel rather sheepish, and put the lute on my back.</p><p>"Nothing of interest."</p><p>"Hm." He responds.</p><p>He said the town was nearby, I hope we make it before nightfall. I find my mind hopelessly wandering back to Geralt. Soon after, my eyes catch something. Something's terribly wrong here.</p><p>"Geralt." I say uneasily, getting his attention. I point through the trees. A horse skull is propped up on a pole, etchings on it were clear from here, yet I can't make them out.</p><p>"A Nithing. Kind of curse. They're nothing to scoff at- can bring misfortune, even death. I've-" I stop the sudden flow of words falling from my mouth. I've seen them before. My throat feels dry. Where have I seen one before? I'm a bard. Where the hell have I seen this, and why? I can feel Geralt's eyes on me, boring into my back- it feels as if he can read my mind. It's unsettling. The medallion feels heavy in my pocket. The witcher ties Roach to a nearby tree and makes his way over to the Nithing, I follow close behind him.</p><p>The Nithing was set up just outside a village, it's propped up against a house with a stone foundation. Must be the curse Geralt was talking about. The populace of the town was rather small- consisting of but a few children and less than a dozen men and women. I walk up to the door of the house with the Nithing, and knock a few times. No one answers. Looking around, I spot a woman and child watching us uneasily.</p><p>"Scary face... can see his teeth." The kid says under his breath, but I catch it. I frown and turn my face away from the kid. His mother scolds him. Geralt watches behind me.</p><p>"Apologizes. If you're looking for the owner of the house, it's me." The kid starts coughing violently, I notice splatters of blood on his hand. The mom holds his shoulders tightly, rubbing them as if it would help him.</p><p>"Nithing have anything to do with that?" Geralt asks, taking a step towards the woman. She looks down at this.</p><p>"The horse head? Yes, after it was put up an illness befallen my son, Ivon. He's getting worse by the day."</p><p>"We're here to help. You were the one who posted the notice, right?" I cut in, she turns to me. </p><p>"Yes, I did."</p><p>"Know anyone who would want revenge for something?" I ask. She pauses before slowly nodding her head.</p><p>"Who?" I press. Geralt stays silent, watching me. I can practically hear him thinking.</p><p>"I'm not sure if it is him, but perhaps it was Mikael, a past lover of mine. He's not far from here, he's the town herbalist." I nod at her before walking away, Geralt hot on my trail.</p><p>"A bard, huh?" He says, just loud enough for me to hear.</p><p>"Yes, a bard." Geralt was strange- sometimes I would kill to know what was going on inside his head, but at other times I hope I would never know. Right now, it was the latter. I'm scared to know what he thinks me to be, mostly because I'm not sure how long I've been a bard. I could've been god knows what before. I'm not exactly young, the occasional white hairs were evidence on their own, not to mention the crow's feet. For all I know, I could've been anything from a prisoner to a soldier before I became a bard. This body of mine and these scars are a dead giveaway that I sure as hell wasn't a farmer or sheepherder before I went to Oxenfurt. Yet, I remember nothing.</p><p>A thought enters my head. Was I a prisoner? Philppe had mentioned that everyone except us and another person on the ship could 'rightly fuck off'. I could've very well be held prisoner there along with him and the other mentioned party, but why would a bard be arrested? Much less, be locked up in a ship that was going who knew where? </p><p>"Wake up." Geralt says from behind me. I was so lost in thought that I didn't notice that we had arrived at the herbalist's hut. My hand was hovering by the door, close to knocking on it.</p><p>"Ahem. Right." I say weakly, ignoring the witcher's quizzical stare. Pointless now- worrying about all of this. Yet, I can't shake that nagging feeling that a part of me was ripped away. I knock on the door. It isn't a minute later when a man answers the door. He looks us up and down before speaking.</p><p>"Yes? Can I help you?"</p><p>"You Mikael?" His eyes dart back and forth between us before landing on me.</p><p>"Yeah, what can I do for you?" He asks, bewildered.</p><p>"That Nithing- suppose you didn't have anything to do with it?" Geralt asks, stepping up next to me. His shoulder brushes mine, and my heart skips a beat. I push down that feeling and focus on the matter at hand.</p><p>"So what if I did? Bitch deserved it after leaving me. Brat shouldn't 'ave ever been born." He spits at us.</p><p>"Take it down, you don't need to bring innocent people into your personal matters." Geralt demands.</p><p>"Fine, I'll take it down. But, she has to renounce her name and come back to me."</p><p>"We'll tell her that, but I think we all know what her answer is going to be. Come on, Geralt, let's go." I turn on my heel, leaving the herbalist.</p><p>---</p><p>I was right. The woman wouldn't do what her past lover had wanted of her.</p><p>"We could write Mikael's name in the Nithing, throw the curse onto him instead of your son." Geralt says to her.</p><p>"It would kill him." I deadpan, watching her face.</p><p>"Yes... but I'd do anything if it meant my son will live another day. Please, do it."</p><p>I frown, and nod. Geralt and I leave the woman, and make our way to the back of the house. The Nithing is still there, just as menacing as always. It bothers me that people have the mind to do these things, just out of spite. Sighing, I grope Geralt's waist, searching for his dagger. The witcher lifted his arms up slightly, looking down at me with a smug smile.</p><p>"Oh, shut up, you" I say, feeling his smug expression on me. I find what I was looking for in a small bag at his thigh, and quickly remove my hands.</p><p>"Do continue." Geralt says teasingly. Rolling my eyes, I flip the dagger in my hands before kneeling down by the Nithing.</p><p>"Not really the time to be flirting." I say solemnly. I begin to carve Mikael's name in the wooden pole, just under Ivon's name. Standing up, I hand Geralt back his dagger, who put it away. We stand in silence for awhile after I turn the horse skull to face the herbalist's hut, Mikael's home. Geralt starts to walk back to the woman, to collect a reward. I stay for a few moments, thinking. I hear Geralt and the woman from the front of the house, their voices muffled.</p><p>"Your son will recover soon, and Mikael will die."</p><p>"Thank the gods! Here witcher, your pay. Well earned." The clinking of coins can be heard. A modest sum.</p><p>"Don't bring the gods into this. This was just a squabble between humans."</p><p>---</p><p>A fire crackled in the middle of the campsite, projecting long shadows on the surrounding area. The light cast by the flames danced across the dark trunks of the trees, twisting and curling in obscure shapes and providing a small radius of light. The fire itself was pulsating, the glowing embers seemed to move in rhythm with the flames, matching every dip and sweep. It was mesmerizing to watch, colours of orange and red gave way to yellow and white near the center, where the emanating heat was the greatest.</p><p>I toss a log into the fire, it cracks and the flames begin to lick up the side of the wood. We sit side by side in a comfortable silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Geralt watching the flames, deep in thought. We have been traveling a few days straight after the Nithing. We fell easily into conversation and would talk here and there, but I still would be the one who was doing most of the talking. A few times, though, Geralt would initiate conversation, I was surprised at this, but decided not to bring it up- fearing that he'd never do it again. I had pushed down any and all growing feelings that were more than platonic towards the other man, it's obvious enough that he didn't even consider me a friend, yet. Maybe someday we'll become friends. I sincerely hope so. I sigh helplessly. These days, I find my thoughts riddled with Geralt, and, to be honest, I don't mind. Not at all.</p><p>“Jaskier.” I hum in response, eyes locked onto the fire. He turns his head to look at me.</p><p>“Do you remember the ship?” His words echo through my head, my body goes rigid. He was on the ship? He must be the other person Phelippe had mentioned. I struggle to speak, my throat suddenly feels dry. I stop myself, clamping my mouth shut. Geralt's gaze was smoldering. He could have the answers. But did I want the answers? Would it be better to continue on without looking back? I struggle with my thoughts for a moment before opening my mouth. The medallion feels heavy in my pocket, the scars tingle, and the gash on the my arm feels hot. No, I need to know. I'm desperate. Who was I?</p><p>“...Tell me something, Geralt, did you know me? Can you tell me who I was?”</p><p>---</p><p>--</p><p>-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>comment what you thought :) i'm planning on making the chapters long like this, so i hope you guys don't mind</p></blockquote></div></div>
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